Al: Afterlife
by nicrt
Summary: It's a capital letter A with a minuscule letter L; short for afterlife.
1. My Name

******Disclaimer: **Characters/factions/items that were not mentioned in any Assassin's Creed franchise belong to me. I do not own any characters/factions/items that do belong to the Assassin's Creed franchise (e.g Desmond Miles).

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**My Name**

Worlds...

The plural form of the word _world_.

It has many meanings, each one as significant as the other.

A globe; Earth. Humankind; a portion of a planet. The universe; different realities that no two person would experience the same.

It's also the rough translation for French word, _Des Mond_.

Desmond; a name.

Specifically it's my name.

And technically...I'm dead.

Or at least, my body is. Burnt and then gone; I could still feel the electric sensation running across skin. A ghostly touch that haunts me.

Somewhere in my mind, it reminds me of the life I had once. Before.

The farm, my home. The city, my freedom. A lab, my prison. A temple, my grave.

Well...not really.

If it was, then I'd be six feet under. Not thinking of something or remembering the past or planning for the future.

It's more like...my domain now. A life after I didn't expect.

No one's home but me.

Desmond.

My name's Desmond.

And this world, is my afterlife.

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**A/N: **Back with something old and new; an idea of Desmond being alive and then not really alive.


	2. Ghost in a Machine

**Disclaimer: **Characters/factions/items that were not mentioned in any Assassin's Creed franchise belong to me. I do not own any characters/factions/items that do belong to the Assassin's Creed franchise (e.g Desmond Miles).

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**Ghost in a Machine**

The Precursors: intangible-like beings, glowing bright with a majestic presence as they moved. They were less like ghosts of the dead and more like holograms with life.

There were three that I've ever met.

Jupiter, was more or less a wise man in faded white and gold hues. He told us of the catastrophic event that would've taken place.

Minerva, bore a warning that I couldn't heed; she had the image of a aging queen, powerful and beautiful still. She shone a wonderful gold colour, almost warm even with her strong exterior.

Juno was in a word: a snake. Manipulative and deceiving despite her sweet words. She was silver; cold as ice. She wanted to retake Earth as her own.

They both watched me burn; they saw how I curled in pain as I sealed humanity's fate. As I allowed Juno to finally be free of her digital prison.

(Looking back, it wasn't the best plan. But with a planet-wide population at stake, I had to do it. Dad probably wouldn't forgive me; not that I blame him.)

I lifted a hand.

It shimmered blue, then green and then silver. Clenched it into a fist and sparks of electricity flashed along circuitry lines running down my arm. Inspecting closer, small streams of data could be seen; cuboidal pixels shifting amongst themselves to compensate the shape my hand takes.

Seated on one of the pedestals of the temple, the brilliant hues of light being projected mesmerised me. How they formed my embodied figure, digital like the Precursors.

I wasn't a wise white like Jupiter, a cold silver like Juno or a magnificent gold like Minerva.

But I glowed and moved like they had; spoke and thought like they do. I'm not too sure about how it felt though. My mind worked as if I had merely woken up from a tortured sleep, not death. Skin, hunger, tiredness? Every thing that made me flesh just wasn't there.

A ghost in a machine, I thought as I stood up from my perch, the source of my illumination. Jumping off, I walked to the far side of the chamber: Juno's prison. There was the archway that led to the rest of the temple, the only way out.

There was no way out. Juno was kept here for that reason; even if Minerva had saved my mind (Soul? Spirit?), freedom became it's sacrifice.

I went back to the pedestal and sat back once again.

(I wonder how long it'll take Dad to find me?)


	3. Restoration

**Disclaimer:** Characters/factions/items that were not mentioned in any Assassin's Creed franchise belong to me. I do not own any characters/factions/items that do belong to the Assassin's Creed franchise (e.g Desmond Miles).

**A/N: **I censored vulgarities because I don't normally write them and it looks a bit of with my writing. If you don't mind them being censored, thanks. If not, well...

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**Restoration**

It was several months after did I finally woke up from my 'death'.

Minerva had taken my _essence, _as she had explained. A method in which had worked on the three of them before in the past; whilst the body wilted, whatever made up my current consciousness survived. Though it was a long time of patience and hard work before Jupiter and Minerva managed to bring me back.

_Restoration is not an easy process_, Minerva had said. _Your memories, your consciousness, your personality...everything that makes you, you Desmond. Recovering them all is not easy._

So was knowing that you were trapped in a prison-grave for likely the next few (hundred) years while the world outside fell victim to a tyrannical woman-spirit.

_Your move has been made Desmond, _Jupiter had told me, _now it is time to wait for hers._

Jupiter's words, for all his wisdom and knowledge, made me angry at first.

_Are you f****** kidding me? _

I screamed; no words that came out of a mouth. Just a voice that echoed in a zone of silence.

_She's out there doing who knows what and you're telling me to f****** wait?_

_Some things are meant to be waited out, Desmond. And as you've said before: don't you believe that the humans will rise against Juno? For now, let us focus on your restoration...healing takes time and patience as well._

For the next few weeks it's been just that: recovering memories, information, anything that helps building me from the ground up. The first time I managed to create my holographic form was difficult; I couldn't remember how I looked exactly. Maybe a mole here, another scar there and then a pimple somewhere, they're the little details that made me human.

Now, whenever I saw myself, the thought of being too perfect cropped up often. Edges too smooth, skin too flawless, physique too balanced; the perfect anatomy of a human being. It was easy to forget that I could make my own image of myself now. Though the tat's still there; so was the scar on my lip.

(I got the scar during one particular training session back at the Farm. Kids being too rough, being too egoistic; I hit them hard because the were playing dirty with another trainee. Dad delivered the hook that gave me the scar, for being stupid and admirable at the same time.)

Restoration brought me back from a lifetime of death.

Why?

_Your move has been made. But your role is not yet over Desmond._

Right; because even in death, I can't take a f****** break.


End file.
